We seemed like a good idea
by snappitback
Summary: Every time someone asks you the question, your answer is always the same. "I've only ever been in love once," you say. "And I have never been more consumed by anything in my life."
1. Chapter 1

So I have a test tomorrow, which means I'm at my most creative, because I want to do none of the studying and all of the procrastinating. I started this during lunch just for fun and kinda kept going.

It's sort of based on my own life. I just intertwined mine and Quinn's. I don't know how much of it I'm going to write. Because the beginning of this story happened four years ago for me.

Everything up until the beginning of senior year is canon for this story. And sort of up until Quinn's accident, except Rachel never went back to Finn after New York. And yeah that doesn't canonically make sense because Quinn was on her way to their wedding when she crashed. But you've seen the alternate universe Christmas episode, Quinn was always supposed to get into that car crash.

Kidding, mostly.

But this is all I did. I'm thinking about either adding more to it or keeping it as a one-shot and then maybe write more one-shots in the same universe.

Either way, here's something.

/

Every time someone asks you the question, your answer is always the same.

"I've only ever been in love once," you say. "And I have never been more consumed by anything in my life."

Some people love easily. Others have a harder time.

It's possible that for those who were born in love, who were raised with love, who knew what it was like to feel unconditional love… well it's easier for them to give love.

It's a fair assumption, you suppose, but not an excuse.

Never an excuse.

You both had been children then, easily controlled by your own emotions. Anyone could rewrite what you had as nothing more of a temporary love between two adolescent teenagers.

But that would be just too easy, wouldn't it?

/

Things always start out simple.

A bus ride back home, fingers running through your hair, a sigh into the pillow you've conveniently placed onto her lap.

It amazed you how easily you'd become comfortable with this… connection.

You didn't really think anything of it at the time. That would've made it too complicated. You were just happy that finally someone saw you, actually saw you for you and not for who you've made yourself out to be.

In a span of three months, she had become your best friend. You'd started to learn who you were, because she began to push you to. It took you a messed up childhood, a teenage pregnancy, the aftermath, a weird summer followed by a completely insane period of mental deficiency, and an accident to completely lose your way.

It took one girl to help find you.

Out of every single person in this world, it was Rachel Berry you let in.

Everyday she was unrelenting. Until one day she was irrefutable.

She didn't just happen to you.

She didn't just suddenly come into your life.

No, she pushed, shoved, and demanded to be in it.

And then eventually, you found yourselves in constant communication with each other. When she wasn't in your presence, when you weren't in hers, you found a way to remain tethered. If it wasn't your phones, it was instant messaging. If it wasn't instant messaging, it was probably nothing. And when it was nothing, you felt empty.

You didn't even notice it happening. You were just glad you had someone to talk to, who you realized wouldn't judge you.

But other people noticed.

You didn't think it was as big of a deal as the rest of the world thought it was. Joining Glee club had already been the pinpoint to revolutionizing how you came to view high school. And so maybe you and Rachel did kinda have a rivalry thing going on in the beginning. And yeah, maybe you had both dated around somewhat but nothing worked out for either of you really.

You both entered senior year single and independent. And you can't really speak for Rachel, but you really did mean it when you swore off boys and popularity and the skirts and the pom-poms. You just didn't care about all that stuff anymore. And just like that, a burden was lifted. Washes of relief flooded out.

And maybe you did go a little crazy. Sure, it was a rocky at the beginning. But it was somehow a compensation for not knowing what to do after living your life under a heavy burden.

Thankfully, Rachel stepped in with her excessive empathy and inability to not care.

And then you were in a bubble for a while.

/

You never really noticed how… touchy Rachel was.

You weren't used to it at first, all that physical contact. If she'd noticed, she never said anything. She probably knew it would make you more uncomfortable to point it out. Eventually, you got used to her practically sitting on your lap, or drawing circles on your back when you were both in class. Eventually, you began to do it too.

You don't even remember the first time you held hands, though looking back, you do remember that you did it a lot. But it was never obvious, not in the obnoxious way that people do when they walk around in public. It was always natural, during an intimate, innocent moment, like on a quiet bus ride home.

You know that the first time it happened, she was the one that initiated it. There was no way in hell that it could've been you that did. She didn't try to slide her hand into yours or suddenly grab onto it until you held hers back. You don't even know how you knew what she wanted. You just intertwined your fingers and continued on whatever it was you were doing. You don't remember where you were or when it was, only that it was just the two of you when she turned her palm up and wiggled her fingers.

There is a good chance that it was probably in her car one day on the way the home from school.

After the accident, she was your personal chauffer. You never asked her to be, she just began to drive you everywhere. Even after she'd helped you learn to walk again, she knew you weren't ready to drive. She didn't mind and neither did you.

Then the both of you just started to have habits.

If there was ever a small moment, where it was just the two of you, like if you were watching a movie at her house, or like that one time you both snuck out to watch the meteor shower that was happening at three in the morning, or every time you were next to each other in the car, whether she was driving or not, you just always found your hand in hers.

It wasn't just holding hands. Every time you were in the backseat on your way to somewhere far enough, she always brought a pillow to place on her lap for you to put your head on so that she could rub her hand up and down your back until you knocked out.

"I don't really sleep at night," was one of the first things you'd ever confessed to her.

It wasn't a big reveal, but it was the most you could've done at that moment.

At first, you thought that it was just her being touchy, which you're sure was part of it, but later on you realized that the light massages and fingers through your hair (which was, actually still **is** your favorite feeling) was also because she was looking out for you, for your health.

You never found out if you had legitimate insomnia back then. Maybe you did and it was a light case, who knows?

All you know is that she hated knowing that you were suffering lying awake in bed while she slept at night. So she began to stay up texting with you until you both fell asleep.

And on the nights when she was too tired to keep her eyes open, she would call you and stay on the phone as long as she could.

When she did, you usually read to her.

She was always the one to fall asleep first on those nights.

The sound of her breathing was soothing. You usually fell asleep right after.

/

You were almost thankful for your insomnia when she had appendicitis one week.

During one of the few classes that the both of you didn't have together, she texted you that her daddy had just picked her up from school and that she was on the way to the hospital.

You freaked out and ran out of class and to the parking lot, even though you knew there was no way they were still on campus.

_What happened? Are you okay?_

It took her a whole minute to reply.

_I'm in the waiting room. I started to feel pain in my abdomen during class so I called my daddy to come get me. We're waiting for the doctor. I can't text you while I'm in there. Don't tell anyone I'm here._

You texted her back and told her to let you know as soon as she can, which you knew she would.

And then you held on to your phone and refused to put it away until she called you.

It took about one whole class period for your phone to ring.

"It's my appendix," she said, "Appendicitis, actually. My appendix is inflamed but thankfully, it hasn't burst. I'm going to have surgery to remove it before it does."

You only felt slightly relieved.

Later on, your insomnia wouldn't let you sleep. So you were awake when she sent you a text at three in the morning.

She told you she was bored and that she couldn't sleep because she was uncomfortable.

And that the nurse was inadequate and that she wished you could've visited but that it was okay because she knew there was no way you could have gotten there.

"I could've tried to drive," you sighed.

"It's on the other side of town, Quinn."

"I'd drive slow."

"Then you'd be in the car longer than you needed to be."

"Still."

"You don't even have a car. And I know your mom wouldn't let you use hers."

You knew she was going to win the argument. She always did. So you changed the topic and fell asleep an hour later during her explanation of how they drilled two small holes into her abdomen before digging out her appendix.

/

It took you a few times to really get comfortable with her family.

It was to be expected.

They're completely different from yours.

Hiram has always been nothing kind to you. You understood immediately where Rachel got her compassion from.

The first time you were alone with him was one day when you decided to walk to their house.

You timed it perfectly so that you would be there around the time Rachel would have been back from her weekly dance practice, but that day she decided to be so tired that she couldn't do anything to prevent herself from falling asleep as soon as she got home.

Hiram let you in and told you that Rachel had fallen asleep and that he'd be in the living room watching TV.

You recite a polite thank you and a smile before you kick off your shoes and make your way up the stairs to the bedroom on the right.

It was unusually quiet, you thought, because the Berry residence was always loud.

But at that moment, the source of the loudness had been lightly snoring and was sprawled out on her stomach, limbs out like a starfish, which you knew she only did when she was really tired.

You lied down on your side next to her and traced your fingers up and down her back.

"Rach," you whispered delicately from a distance, head propped up by your elbow.

You scooted in closer and lowered your head until your lips just ghosted above her ear.

"Rachel…" you tried again.

But the girl barely stirred.

You frowned and sank into your initial position, continuing the light massages for just a few more minutes before carefully slipping off of the bed and out the door.

You'd found yourself walking towards the faint sounds of the TV in the living room. From what you could tell, a reality show was on.

"Don't judge me," Hiram said.

You just shrugged.

"I just thought Rachel was all the drama you would need."

That was the first time you made him laugh on your own and you spent the next hour or so trying to be funny by making comments about the show that you thought he would enjoy.

He asked you questions about your life that were light enough for you to be able to come up with a generic answer. You were thankful the questions weren't hard-hitting. You knew you wouldn't have been able to answer those.

He probably knew you wouldn't, either.

He was perceptive, you decided, just like Rachel.

Rachel may have acquired her dramatic tendencies from this man, but she also mirrored his heart.

Hiram radiated love the moment you met him.

Talking with him then only proved what she knew about Rachel. And it was that genuine and selfless, she loved without expecting love in return.

They gave and asked for nothing back.

You don't remember falling asleep.

But you do remember waking up to someone rubbing lightly against your back and the sound of Rachel's voice explaining to her father how tired she had been lately.

"Maybe take a break for a few days. Go downtown or to the lake. Take Quinn. It's the summer. Don't vienna, darling," you hear from your place sandwiched between the brunette and the couch. You turned to curl a bit into the girl who sat at your waist.

"Vienna is my favorite Billy Joel song," she told you later in the week when her dad had suggested they at least walk to the park down the street.

You were hanging upside down on the monkey bars. You were more flexible then, when you were younger, even more before the accident. It was your favorite thing to do on the playground as a child. It still gave you the same feeling, blood rushing to your head, like a temporary high, only your dangling arms were now longer and your hands were closer to the ground, which means it was less of a risk.

There was probably a hint of irony in there somewhere, you suppose.

Rachel was leaning against the side, arms crossed, watching the color rush to your head.

"You may not already know this about me," she started with a tone of voice that you already knew the next words were going to be subtly laced with sarcasm, "but I'm generally not a laid-back person."

You snickered.

You secretly loved how sarcastic she had become since you'd been hanging out because you knew she picked it up from you. It's something she never got rid of.

You knew it was something she didn't like at first.

"It's funny," you explained.

"It's lying," she retorted.

"Oh my god seriously?" you groaned while she began to explain to you how insincere it was to be sarcastic because it meant you had to say something that you actually didn't mean.

"That's the point," you told her. "Saying something sarcastically doesn't mean you're trying to hide anything. It's a form of wit that's at least humorous when you're making fun of someone. "

"You would know, wouldn't you?"

It was quick and painful, like many of the words you had used in the past.

She was challenging you to regress. You knew she that's what she was doing. You were taken aback at first and her eyes softened, but you knew she wanted to see how you would react.

You squinted your eyes.

"Of course," you started slowly, "because we both know I'm the funnier one."

She beamed and you couldn't help but feel overwhelmed at the idea that she proud of you.

Your favorite Billy Joel song is The Longest Time.

"Noooo," you supplied, "you mean you're not always calm? You hide it so well."

She rolled her eyes.

"_Slow down, you crazy child. You're so ambitious for a juvenile, but then if you're so smart, tell me why are you still so afraid," _she began to sing like you knew she would.

"Whenever I get ahead of myself or start to overdo things, my fathers remind me of that song. It reminds me to just take a step back and breathe."

You smiled at her anecdote. You loved when she talked like that, when she talked to you about anything, really.

Your eyes were still closed when she finished the rest of the song.

/

She found it fitting that your favorite word is solace.

It also made her sad.

But she understood.

"Comfort or consolation in a time of distress or sadness," she read.

You just nodded.

It's somewhat masochistic of you for your favorite word to be both bittersweet and uplifting at the same time.

It could have easily been hope, or serenity, or tranquility, but no… your favorite word had to have the definition of consolation amidst tragedy.

"That's beautiful," her words carefully whispered.

Even though it was a complete accident, and she was just being a dork by asking you random questions, this particular one somehow made her understand you a little better.

You couldn't see her at that moment, but you could imagine her face softening.

"Hey," you said, just before you smiled to lighten up the mood. "This would be more fun if I were faced the other way."

To which Rachel responded by reverted back to excitement.

You told her to calm down.

"But then we won't finish."

"We have enough time. Why do you get to be on top?"

"Because Quinn, where although I have my own set of talents, I also lack in some areas, mostly physically. You, on the other hand, do not… in this particular… skill… set. You would crush me. You're stronger."

"Not if we were careful! Plus I didn't know that I would be doing all the muscle work today. Why can't we just use a…"

"Because gay men are known for having tools?!"

"Shut up, I know for a fact that your dads have one. And I know where it is."

"Do not leave. Just be quiet and let me finish."

"Girls, do you need any help?" We heard Hiram from the front door.

"YES" "NO"

"RACHEL" "QUINN"

"But I'm tired," you complained. "I don't even understand why we're putting up Christmas lights on your front porch. You're Jewish… and you're heavy." You teased.

She had been mounted on your shoulders, her idea.

"You're a cheerleader, you have the upper body strength to lift me up." She had argued earlier, but you knew she just wanted to pretend to be a cheerleader for even a few minutes.

After about fifteen minutes of arguing, you finally caved in, which is why you found yourself early December on a Friday afternoon holding onto Rachel Berry's ankles, who stood on your shoulders as you tryied to keep your balance while she hooked Christmas lights to the roof of her house.

"See? Isn't this more fun than using a ladder?" She bellowed.

"Maybe for you," you retorted. "I should be facing the other way so that I could at least watch the cars go by. I've memorized the front of your house by now."

She just laughed, knowing full well that your complaints weren't genuine.

"Then sing something for me," she demanded. It's something she asked you to do a lot.

As much as she loved to sing for people, sometimes she just wanted to be the one someone sang to.

You were glad she picked you.

You sang 'O Holy Night.'


	2. Chapter 2

Guess what, it's finals week. Guess what, I wrote this the day before my hardest final. Guess what it's not a one-shot anymore.

And to reiterate, Rachel and Finn never got together at the end of Junior year. Everything else happened up til the accident, except in my universe, the accident happened before Christmas.

/

Love was a big deal for you.

You were never really shown it, so you didn't really know how to give it, let alone what it actually meant to have it.

You could never dream of it happening to you, the most pragmatic, closed-off, emotionally-stunted, shell of a human being.

Well, maybe second-most. After all, you learned from the best, right?

You've always struggled to connect with people. You can't exactly pinpoint why. It's a completely narcissistic mentality to never believe that anyone could ever have matched you before. You are generally unimpressed by everything. That's just you. But somehow you slipped.

Before high school, back when you actually had dreams for your life, you always thought you would meet someone that you eventually liked and it would just fall into place.

But Lucy was naïve.

As you grew older, you realized that everyone sucked and you stopped looking for someone that didn't.

"You suck," you told her after she beat you at a game of Speed for the millionth time. Rachel Berry had a hidden talent for card games.

"This isn't even fun anymore," she boasted on a Tuesday afternoon as you threw the rest of your cards across her bed.

You spent almost everyday after school doing best friend things at your best friend's house. But for some reason, you rarely ever talked about boys, not that you ever really did in general, God knows you never talked about boys with anyone, not Brittany, definitely not Santana. You didn't need to talk about them anyways, you just thought it was interesting that Rachel never did, but then you figured with the whole Finn thing, and you both also "dated" Puck…. It was unnecessary. They were all irrelevant.

All you ever really wanted was at least one person to have, and that was all you would need.

"Why don't we ever do anything that **you're** bad at, like anything requiring hand-eye coordination," said the sore-loser.

"I resent that, you're just not good at anything," said the sore-winner.

"You are such a brat sometimes," you would never tell her you how exaggerated your competitiveness was with her. You really didn't care if you won, you liked when she was happy anyways.

"Sometimes?" she joked.

"Brat," you laughed.

But you weren't mad, ten minutes later you sat on her couch and waited for her to take her seat next to you.

"We don't have anymore orange juice!" you heard her yell from the kitchen before stretching your arms around the couch.

"So you're gonna go run to the grocery store real quick right?" you called back and flipped through the channels on TV.

"You mean YOU'RE gonna run to the grocery store real quick for a gallon of YOUR favorite beverage," quipped the brunette who had just walked into the room with a glass of iced herbal tea in hand.

You remember pouting and Rachel sitting next to you, trapping your left arm between herself and the back of the couch. You remember not even moving as she reached over to set her glass onto the table beside you. You remember your hand falling to her waist at the movement and then locking onto her hip when she reverted back to 70% sitting slightly up and 30% leaning into you.

You also remember not noticing at first. You were both leaning slightly to the right, almost as if you were both about to lie down but your feet were off the couch and her knees were tucked into her chest.

Then your right hand reached for her tea because you were suddenly thirsty.

She tore her gaze away from the TV and watched you as you sipped her… tea. She watched your face scrunch into an expression of confusion. She giggled, because you weren't an avid tea drinker, nor an avid vegan-food eater, nor an avid-healthy living cuisine… eater, but you always tried her stuff anyways. Rachel was so weird, with her vegan cupcakes and kale chips and herbal tea, even though you tried it all, you usually ended up not approving.

"This one doesn't taste like flowers this time."

Her shirt had started to rise up a bit at her hip.

"Jokes on you, it's hibiscus."

Your fingers tingled, but you didn't notice.

"But why doesn't it taste like flowers?"

Your sense of touch was distracted by the unfamiliar flavor your sense of taste had started to question.

"Because there's lemon juice."

You took another sip before handing the glass to her, making sure you caught an ice cube to chew on.

"You mean lemonade?"

By the time she sat back down from reaching over to put her cup on the table once more, your hand was basically under the side of her shirt.

"I mean lemon juice."

But she never said anything about it.

She never said anything about the other times your hand found a way under her shirt during the night.

There was a timeline of progression that you had with her,

from the first time you held hands in the car and then always holding hands during movies,

to innocent touches like fingers running through hair or hands rubbing soothingly across her back

to almost cuddling on coaches or at least leaning into each other very… closely

to actual cuddling on coaches and then beds.

Because one night you slept in her bed like it wasn't a big deal, you told your parents the Cheerios were having a sleepover at one of their houses and it was the first time Rachel had a friend overnight. You watched movies and knocked out.

But some time around the middle of the night, she took your hand and you woke up with your arm around her waist and your fingers entwined and all she grunted out was an "I'm soooooo hungry" into her pillow.

So you started to just hold hands whenever you slept in the same bed for some reason.

And then one night you were spooning and your arm slung around her and then she shifted onto her back and your hand ended up under her shirt. Some nights it held onto her waist. And then other nights it just rested on her stomach.

Her skin was soft.

/

She always told you how you were here only real friend really and that she didn't need anyone except for you, which of course made you feel like the most important person in the world. You never once questioned it, because why wouldn't you believe her, because why would she lie to you, because who cares why she thought she didn't need anyone else in her life?

But it started to get unhealthy.

It's not like you had THAT many real friends, either. I mean, besides Santana and Brittany, and this weird bond you'll always have with Puckerman, and maybe Mercedes too actually, you didn't really need lots of friends, either. But you were popular.

Rachel was not.

Half of the glee club went from hating her to tolerating her to "she's okay now I guess."

A few were divas and still saw her as another competition, still they didn't really hate her anymore but there was no way they could see themselves being "besties" with Rachel Berry.

Santana didn't like anyone that wasn't Brittany.

And so one day, you knew something was wrong when she was acting weird. You kept asking her why but she kept brushing it off. You were never one to pry so you let it go, but it kept happening.

"Are you angry with me"

"No Quinn."

"Did I do something?"

"No."

"Why are you being weird?"

"QUINN."

And then one day she couldn't hold it in anymore. It took you a while to get it out of her but she cried.

"You never choose me," she said after you'd chased her into the bathroom and leaned against the door, trapping her in.

"What?" You replied dumbfounded, because literally what the fuck.

"You never choose me. You like being popular. You want to eat lunch with Santana and Brittany or talk about books with Mike Chang."

It wasn't true. It wasn't fucking true and that's what you told her.

But she told you that you had all these people and all she had was you. And that she felt unwanted every time you paid more attention to someone else.

One time you didn't sit next to her in the choir room and she was hurt.

"Rachel, I was late for class and I ran so fast that I literally just took the closest seat to the door."

"You could have moved."

"I…."

"It just _happened_ to be next to Puck."

"Are you seriously..."

"If you wanted to sit next to me, you would gotten up and walked over. You do have legs, Quinn."

And then you tried to defend yourself, but it was a pretty logical reasoning because how could you argue with that?

Your first emotion was always anger everytim, everytime she mentioned someone else and you kept denying her accusations, you rambled like an idiot; that of course you choose her and that you wanted to sit next to her.

"Then why didn't you?"

By this time you would freak out, of course.

Because there she was telling you that you were hurting her. How shitty did that make you feel?

But you still denied and then she called you a liar.

And then you thought, "_I mean she's right, I could have moved._"

And then your heart reminded you how she was holding it captive, how enamored you were, because you were so consumed by her, your ration had been dissolved and replaced by the desire to make her happy. And if you were hurting her, what else could you do but do anything you can to keep her from feeling that way?

So you just agreed. With everything.

/

You were surprisingly thoughtful. You didn't even know you could be.

But sometimes you hid notes in Rachel's room and drew little comics for her to read in class.

Sometimes you went out of your way to get her vegan food.

You always waited for her, followed her around like a little puppy.

You carried her books for her and tried to make her laugh.

No one had ever seen this creative side of you.

You loved the attention.

You stood up for her every time someone said something inappropriate.

Sometimes, but rarely, she would ask you to sing something.

You would initially protest of course, because your piano skills are not completely polished and your performing ability was nothing compared to hers. But you'd end up singing something anyway.

You didn't know you were capable of doing nice things.

You said it was probably because you were subconsciously trying to make up for every bad thing you've ever done to her.

She disagreed.

She said she always knew that your heart was pretty, too.

/

"Stop feeding me, I'm gonna get ugly." You mumbled without looking away from the book in your lap.

You were sitting in the shopping cart because Rachel had to run errands and you tagged along like usually.

Rachel was consuming an ice cream cone as she pushed you backwards past the dairy products. You kept refusing every time she offered it to you.

"You were never ugly, Quinn," she replied as she grabbed a carton of milk and handed it to you.

You placed it down next to your knee.

"Fat, then."

She stopped at the meat section and shook her head. Whose idea was it to put vegan meat substitutes in the meat section, anyways? They should have a whole section called "It'll never be as good as the real thing."

"Don't worry, Lucy Q. You could turn into a cow and I'd still be your friend."

You made sure to reach over and sneak in some packets of real bacon strips.

"One day the magic in my book of spells will awaken and you will regret every saying that." You flipped to the next page.

"You've been reading that for a week. You usually tear through books more quickly."

"It's Finnegan's Wake, not exactly the easiest to read."

"Do you want the rest?" She held out what was left of the ice cream cone.

You rolled your eyes and popped it into your mouth.

"Can we get more orange juice?"

/

You spent New Years' Eve your senior year at Rachel Berry's house.

It had been three months since your accident early September, about two since you could walk again.

It's funny, in August, when the school year began, you were so lost and angry. When she told you she was there for you, you scoffed. She was relentless. You were not going back.

You became hell bent on getting Beth back, you did whatever you thought it would take. But then you slipped.

You don't know how Rachel knew, but when she talked to you about Shelby, you thought you would just ignore her. But you could never seem to ignore Rachel Berry, could you?

You probably would have done something you would have regretted your whole life, you could've even hurt Beth's potential future.

You thanked her that day, for being the only one to try to help you, for not yelling or being angry with you, but for being patient and caring enough to help you understand the future that you wanted.

And just like that, after so many attempts on Rachel's part, you were friends.

"Is your back acting up again?" Rachel asked you as she handed you a pillow. With emphatic voices carrying behind you and Dick Clark's New Year's Rockin' Eve on blast, you've stopped comparing the differences of sound between your place and hers. You thought of the deafening silence that you were used to.

You shook your head. "Not any more than usual."

You thought about the ridiculous cliché that says that the way you spend the New Years Eve is the way you're going to spend the rest of the year, which was a ridiculous notion.

You didn't really know what it meant to be happy, but you wouldn't it mind it being like that everyday.

You were at Rachel's house, taking up couch space in her living room while the rest of the Glee Club were scattered around the house.

You looked around the room and watched Puck and Finn try to throw Cheetos into Artie's mouth.

S and B were standing against the wall to your right, laughing at whatever story Mike Chang had been reenacting very animatedly.

Sam was the only one watching. He'd been sitting cross-legged on the floor directly in front of the TV, probably entertained by whoever was performing.

Rachel was, of course, next to you on the couch, talking to Kurt who sat in a chair to her left.

It's weird how different you were from her. It's weird how much it actually worked for you.

You learned a lot about yourself because of Rachel Berry, some of it may have been influenced by her, but you spent so long trying so hard to be perceived a certain way that without the illusion you were lost without a foundation of who you thought you were.

"Too loud?" She whispered into your ear.

It made you smile to know how well she understood you.

She was the opposite of you. Loud, flamboyant, full of emotion and responsiveness.

You never realized how introverted you actually were, which is probably why you began to hang on to Rachel in the first place.

For Rachel, people, an audience, and the applause, she thrived on it.

You're more of a one-on-one kinda person.

"I'm fine," you reassured her before she turned back to Kurt.

You slumped forward, plopped your head up on one elbow and joined Sam in watching whatever was on TV. You started to feel sleepy again when Rachel's hand began to rub up and down your back. Being around people was mentally draining.

You didn't hear Sam talking to you.

"What?" He was looking expectantly at you.

"Wanna watch a movie? No one's paying attention to the TV anyways."

"Sure, Sam." You glanced around the room, he was right.

"What should I pop in?" He stood up from a few feet away and faced their cabinet.

"I don't care," you said as you turned on your side and placed your pillow and then your head on Rachel's lap.

Eventually, everyone transferred their attention to the movie. No one said anything when midnight had passed or when Rachel wrapped her arm around to hold your hand.

/

"You're my only friend," she whispered.

"Rachel…"

You were in a fight again about how she didn't really need a lot of friends, maybe one or two, but it didn't matter because she was fine with having just you. You told her you didn't need anyone, either. You told her that she was the only person you had, too; it was one of the things you shouldn't have done, but at that time in your life, you thought it was true. This was the difference between you and her. Yes, you were popular, and yes, you know that it didn't mean that you had a lot of friends, but you had people. You didn't you needed anyone because you had all the people you needed. She didn't think she needed anyone because she actually didn't have anyone else, anyone else but you.

That made you feel so special.

You'd never felt special before.


	3. Chapter 3

I just want to fail my test so I can go to sleep for days. I have like two hours and I'm all studied out so I wrote this chapter. Have fun.

/

The second time you'd ever gotten drunk happened coincidentally like the first… that being Puck's fault.

Mr. Schuester had planned a trip to go "line-dancing" at a local country event that the community held. The plan was to meet at school, have a quick pre-dinner in the choir room, and then "practice country-dance moves" to "broaden New Directions' dance repertoire."

Rachel was the one that had suggested everyone bring their own dish or refreshment. "Like the potlucks we have on Passover." To which only Puck had nodded and everyone just shrugged.

When you and Rachel arrived at the choir room, most of the food had yet to be set out on the two long tables in the middle of the room that everyone seemed to be crowding around.

"I'm really, really, really hungry," you whispered to Rachel who began rearranging the table.

Utensils, napkins, and plates went first, followed by the salad and soup.

You'd tried reaching for a roll of bread to munch on but to no avail.

"Don't be rude, Quinn. Wait until everyone is here."

Great. Don't wanna be rude, Quinn.

"Dangnabbit we forgot the tongs!" She exclaimed as she sifted through the plastic bags.

"I'll get it," you offered and walked out of the room before she could counter-offer.

You don't know why you didn't find Puck and Santana sitting in the parking lot on the hood of his car suspicious, but you couldn't care any less about what they were doing.

You grabbed the tongs out of the front seat of Rachel's car and sauntered over to the two idiots.

"Rachel won't let us eat until everyone is here so get the fuck over there because I'm starving," you stood with one hand on your hip and the other pointing at them with the utensils.

"Geez, Baby Mama. Calm your tits, you're bumming us out." Puck said as he held out a large pitcher. "I made a milkshake," he gestured to his cup, "And I was just sharing some with my girl here." Santana scoffed and returned to consuming the substance in her cup. "Want some? I didn't really feel like sharing with everyone so I'm just finishing it out here."

You were hungry so you just let him pour you a full cup.

You'd only had wine coolers before, and those were pretty sweet, which meant that didn't REALLY know what alcohol tasted like. So when you downed what you assumed was a pineapple milkshake, you didn't notice the bitter taste. You just internally reasoned that Puck was shit at blending fruit and dairy but you were incredibly starving so you let him pour you four more cups, which you found out later was the equivalent of five shots of tequila. And you'd been on an empty stomach when you consumed it all.

It took a little while for it to kick in. You probably would've felt it earlier if you hadn't been dancing to loud music at the country club, but as soon as you walked out, you felt a little dizzy. You thought it was because of all the adrenaline, but you were leaning on Rachel a little too much when everyone gathered around Mr. Schue who had been trying to decide where to eat post-dancing.

"Quinn? Are you okay?" You heard Rachel ask. You'd had your head on Rachel's shoulder and both your arms wrapped around her waist. She was surprised by the uncharacteristically public and affectionate embrace.

"I'm falling," you replied and didn't notice Puck and Santana sending smirks your way.

Everyone agreed to going to the iHop a few blocks down the street.

"Quinn, let go. We're going to iHop." She tried to untangle you.

"I'm hungryyyyyy," you remember saying and feeling like you couldn't move. Your head was slightly spinning and if you hadn't been holding on to Rachel, you would've ended up sitting on the floor.

"That's why we're going to iHop," she said as she grabbed one of your hands and pulled you along. You stumbled a bit and took a few seconds to stand up straight but you held onto her hand really tightly and watched your feet move in front of each other.

"Rachel, I'm falling," you said again. It was something you said a lot that night.

"Why do you keep saying that?" Rachel asked before noticing two giggling nuisances behind you. "And why are Puck and Santana being weird?"

It wasn't until you had all reached iHop that she realized something was wrong. Everyone sat down in the waiting area as Mr. Schue talked to the hostess. You sat down next to Rachel, who had been in a conversation with Finn about incorporating what everyone had learned into a dance number. You closed your eyes and leaned your head sideways against the wall behind the long chair bench. Rachel didn't notice you starting to lean back and you didn't either, because obviously you were inebrated, but you kept subtly leaning until gravity shoved you down in one quick and loud motion.

"Oh my god, Quinn?" came from Rachel simultaneously with a burst of laughter from Puck, followed by Santana, who couldn't hold it in either.

She immediately knelt down next to your head. When you opened your eyes, you were half-lying on the bench and Rachel was staring down at you. You smiled.

"Rachel, listen Rach, I think I have to pee but I'm not sure," her eyebrows furrowed, "But if I do, I don't think I can walk."

This made the other two laugh even louder.

"What a light-weight," Puck had mistakenly commented to Santana loud enough for most of your fellow glee-club classmates to hear.

Through a series of ten-second blinking periods, you saw eyes light on fire with an "Excuse me?" before standing up to turn around and grab Puck's left ear in order to shove him up against the wall.

"WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER?" She yelled angrily into his ear.

"OW, what the fuck Berry. It's not my fault, she kept asking to have some of my milkshake." He wiggled his eyebrows. Mistake number-two.

He yelped when she tugged even harder.

"You're incorrigible! She's drunk!"

A smack and then an 'ow'.

"I'm telling your mother!"

Puck's apologies sounded like clouds in your head, as did most of everyone else's voices.

"Quinn, love," she was back at your side, "Let's go sit at the table. You need to drink some water and probably consume a lot of food."

You don't know how you did it, but you'd managed to get up and walk to the table.

If Mr. Schue noticed you leaning heavily on Rachel or even being particularly affectionate that night, he never commented on it. He didn't say anything when you returned to hugging Rachel's waist at the table as you rested your head on her back. He didn't say anything when you spilled a little bit of water on the both of you. And he certainly didn't say anything when you began unbuttoning Rachel's shirt.

"Quinn!" She whispered. "Stop it." She smacked your hand.

"Owwwww," you held your hand to your chest, "But when can we order food? I want to eat now."

"We already ordered it, Quinn."

"We did? What did I get?" Confusion written all over your face, your eyes widened and you looked around the room. "Rachel, I think you have my wallet."

"I ordered you bacon and eggs and yes, I have your wallet."

"Okay then you make sure I pay for my food okay?"

"Of course, Lucy Q."

"Don't forget. You have my wallet okay?"

"Yes, Quinn."

A minute passed by and then, "Are you…. Are you patronizing me?"

"Not at all, sweetie."

"Don't patronize me. I will not have it." You said a little too loudly before standing up, which proved to be a difficult task seeing as though you'd kicked your chair over.

"Quinn! Sit down!" But instead you crossed your arms.

"No. You're patronizing me."

"I can assure you, I am not patronizing you now please, sit down." She said a little softer.

You didn't move until she asked if you wanted to hold her hand, which of course you accepted. She pulled you down, back into your chair.

"Rachellllllllllllllllllllll, you have my wallet."

"I am going to kill Noah."

/

When school started back up after winter break, you were inseparable, which became a problem for some people. You didn't know it at the time, but people talked about the two of you. But you'd had some character development since sophomore year, you like to think it wouldn't have bothered you if you knew about it. Either way, you were oblivious because by then you were already enamored.

She should've told you that it bothered her, maybe then you'd at least understand one reason she held things from you, but she never told you because she didn't want it to affect you, except it kinda did… indirectly.

You weren't sure exactly how but your dad found out about her and your…. friendship. You don't know exactly what he'd heard about the things people had been saying about Rachel and you, but one day he asked you about her, well more like antagonized and yelled at you while you sat there biting your lip and taking in his words of accusation about you, about her, about the both of you.

You had wanted to say that she was your friend. You wanted to ask how he could judge someone he didn't know. You wanted to shout back and call him out on his own transgressions, but you knew there would've been no point.

He was the parent, and you were merely a child.

/

You were champions of Catch Phrase. It was unfair (according to her dads) how easily you could read each other's minds. All your phrases were subjective to an inside joke only she could understand.

"Four words. The first two words are what I tell you when you start to doodle in class."

"Pay attention."

"Okay and then opposite of 'later girl.'"

"Now boy. Pay attention now, boy."

She was very competitive, very expressive, very emotional, very loud, very obnoxious, everything you weren't.

She was good.

"Sour green fat tube-y plus a throwing… sphere!"

"Pickle…ball?"

For someone who tried so hard to not let anyone in, you loved the feeling of being dependent on Rachel. You thought it made you feel free to just be. You knew you'd changed since she became a permanent fixture in your life. Rachel helped you let go of the person you thought you were supposed to be. The next step was to find out who you actually were.

"The diary product that I hate the most!"

"Cheese."

"Okay except it's not mine!"

"Nacho cheese."

_Ding._

"YES! We won! In your face, daddies!"

/

It took you a while for you to be convinced to let her come over to your house.

You'd never really brought anyone home before. Santana knew where you lived, and she'd dropped you off before, picked you up, and/or stayed for at least 15 minutes those times you weren't entirely ready yet. But you'd never really brought anyone home before.

You made it a point not to, not because you didn't want your parents to meet your friends, but because you didn't want your friends to meet _him_.

You needed to protect them from him, from his judgmental discrimination and disapproving verbal abuse.

"I can handle it," she tried convincingly.

And you knew she could. It was your own self that you knew wouldn't be able to handle it.

She was stronger than you, she always was.

But when she said it wasn't fair that you knew her whole life and she didn't know what color your comforter was.

"It's blue," you scoffed. "What else do you want to know?"

She narrowed her eyes before scooting her chair back to stand up. And without a word, she walked to class without you.

This happened about five more times before you felt guilty, because you always felt guilty eventually.

You made sure to pick a night that you knew your father was going to come home late, because then you could at least relax around the house and watch a movie in the living room without having a burden being held over your head. It was very pleasant, you'd even played a video game or two, but as soon as the clock hit 11 pm, you made sure you were both in your room.

"Here, hold this," you handed her a bag of kale chips while you rummaged through the fruit basket. When she asked what you were doing, you told her you needed to stock up.

And when she told you that you were being ridiculous, you handed her four water bottles.

When you were about four years old, you had to have stitches for the first time. Your age never seemed to agree with Frannie, the difference never seemed to have the right timing so she never really got you.

So when you were about four years old, you didn't really have anyone to play with. Your father said that it didn't matter because it wasn't lady-like to play, but sometimes you ignored that.

One day your father brought you to the house of one of his former clients. And usually he'd just tell you to behave but that day was one of those days that he'd tell you not to embarrass him. You'd spent about two hours (according to four-year old time perception logic) standing next to him speak to fancy older people in fancy clothing holding fancy drinks and then probably 500 hours sitting in one of the chairs stacked up against the wall that was diagonal to a window at least… until a nice lady came up to you and asked why you were alone.

"I'm not alone ma'm, I'm here with my father," you'd said politely.

She had been impressed with your manners.

"My husband built a tree-swing in the backyard for our son when he was your age. Why don't you go see if it still works?" Her voice reminded you of the molasses your grandma used to make… if it were pink.

You were excited for about ten seconds before retiring back to a reserved manner.

You politely declined, but she tried again.

"I won't tell," she'd said like it was a secret, which she was only doing to entertain a child, but back then you actually thought she understood.

So you nodded and walked as fast as you could without causing a scene, out the back door she had pointed towards.

You only sat on the swing for about five minutes before you actually started moving your legs. You were hesitant to try, a trait that carried with you until you got older.

You stopped swinging when a dog came running towards you. He was probably excited that someone had been on the swing that hadn't been used in a while, you thought.

Russell hated animals. You were never allowed to have a pet so you learned to appreciate every opportunity you got to interact with one.

Before you knew it, you were running around the backyard, chasing a dog who thought he was chasing you.

You ended up having to go to the emergency room because you'd tripped and split your knee open on a grass sprinkler. You were little, which meant you could only remember a few things. You don't remember the ride to the hospital or the ride home from there. You don't remember the pain or even the actually stitching. But you do remember silently crying and the view from when they laid you down. You remember being given a whole roll of stickers and the look of embarrassment on your father's face when everyone left the party to huddle around you after someone saw you fall.

"I bet you were a really cute four-year old," was what Rachel said when she asked about the scars on your knee.

"I'm cute at every age," came the natural reply, "except maybe at age 12. We don't talk about that."

"Oh, we don't talk about that whole year?"

"Nope, never existed. I biologically skipped that year at will. My scrapbook goes from age 11 to age 13."

"You scrapbook, too?"

"No, Rach. I do not scrapbook."


End file.
